Kissed By Ice
by winterfellwinds
Summary: Jon recalls a night he once spent with the free folk, a night during which he found unexpected warmth in a merciless landscape of snow and ice.
1. Ice

The snow had been heavy that night. The thick white flakes had beaten brutally against his face, with the sharp stinging force that only existed north of the wall.

The wind had been worse. It had howled - no - screamed, screamed into his numb ears, bitten at his exposed flesh, blinded him in both eyes.

And the darkness had come early that night, unnaturally early. It crept down over the group slowly at first, then all at once. It bore down on them, weighed heavy on their shoulders, disconcerted them. North of the wall, darkness always brought a sense of disquiet - this darkness had been downright menacing.

But far worse than the snow, the wind and the darkness had been the cold. The chilling, numbing sort of cold that set your teeth on edge. The sort of cold you could feel deep in your bones. The sort of cold that penetrated the deepest crevice of your being, that made you forget that you had ever been warm, and that you would ever be warm again. It had hurt to breathe, every breath a knife inside his chest. His eyelashes had frozen together, he remembered. A film of icy sweat had covered his brow.

And with the cold had come the fear.

He had felt it in the pit of his stomach before he even realised what he was dreading. When the cold came, the fear had descended with it from the black sky, slow and ominous, and even the hearts of the bravest men and women has shrunk and shriveled. They all knew no sword could cut through the cold. Their bravado had disappeared with the sunlight and they were reduced to a small crowd of frightened, freezing bundles of fur. Prey. Barely even human.

He remembered the face of each and every member of the party. It wasn't hard; they had all looked the same. Grim, fearful faces crusted with ice, stealing furtive looks behind them as they fought onwards through the snow. Out here, in the battlefield where men fought ice and shadows, every man was a brother and every woman a sister. They were each others' only protection, only hope.

And so they had banded together, driven into each others' arms by the threat that was perpetually lurking behind them.


	2. Fire

On and on they had trudged until they finally reached their distant rest. Jon remembered the sweet relief that had washed over him when their fire had caught alight. He remembered the muttered prayers and thanks he had offered to his gods, dizzied with gratitude for the brief respite.

He remembered gazing into the faces of those surrounding him. Tormund Giantsbane, solemn and regal amidst his furs, his sons at his side. Varamyr Sixskins, his eyes rolling back as left them to fly with his eagle. The Thenns, tearing at frozen meat, their faces hard and strong.

And most of all he remembered Ygritte. She had come to him when all was still but the flames, during the blackest hour of the night, and she had been small and fierce, insistent, beguiling. And she had been warm, Gods, she had been _warm._ And she had chosen to thaw out _him._

He remembered the rush of cold air when she had slipped underneath his sleeping skins. He remembered the way his cheeks had flushed red when she slid her hands inside his layers of clothing, and the way he had wondered if she was blushing too. Her hands had been cold, so cold, but a different sort of cold than the snow. A tingling, thrilling sort of cold.

Her lips had been so hot when they met his own, hot and soft and inviting. He remembered her hands on his throat, pulling him into her, wrapping herself around him. She had been intoxicating, and he was powerless to resist.

And so he responded with equal fervor, pinning her down and kissing her back with all his might, his vows forgotten. She had allowed him to pull away the layers of wool and fur she had been bundled up in, and ease underneath her underclothes. He remembered the way their frozen breath had risen into the air and the way she had sighed his name, _Jon Snow, Jon Snow_. He remembered the way she arched her back and bit her lip and dug her nails into his skin.

Afterwards, they had slept with their limbs entwined and their faces pressed together. Underneath Jon's sleeping skins, they had been leagues and leagues away from the frozen north, immersed in a tiny world of hot skin and whispers. They had been a small, insignificant bundle of warmth in a vast frozen expanse of icy cold.


End file.
